Chapter 1
The Fall's Seeds
"I am a Space Marine of the Black Templars, a son of Dorn, the Emperor's chosen. I will not falter. I will not fall."
~ Khael Tiberias
Rhea Lunaris stands as a beacon of stability and advancement in this corner of the galaxy. Its strategic significance is unparalleled, serving as a critical base for several local star systems. A mighty Imperial Fists fortress looms over its surface, a testament to the planet's importance in safeguarding the Emperor's domain.
In recent years, the Black Templars have established a temporary fortress-monastery on the planet, their warriors lending their zeal and might to an ongoing crusade in a neighboring solar system ravaged by the insidious tendrils of the Tyranids.
To honor the Chapter Founding Day, the Planetary Governor has decreed a grand celebration, uniting the Imperial Fists and the Black Templars in a rare display of camaraderie. The festivities are a spectacle of martial pride, with parades and ceremonies showcasing the unyielding strength of the Imperium, a reminder to all of the Emperor's enduring light in an unforgiving galaxy.
The grand celebration of the Chapter Founding was in full swing. Opulent banners draped the walls of the grand hall, and nobles clad in silks and finery mingled, toasting to the Imperium's strength and the sanctity of the Black Templars' mission. But even within the Imperium prominent planet, evil loomed. Leda Vanns, exhausted by the tiresome game of currying favor with lords and matrons, slipped away from the endless chatter. Her sharp eyes scanned the outer chamber, where the guests weren't expected to linger.
It was here she noticed them—a company of Black Templars, standing like statues carved from obsidian. Each one was a vision of disciplined strength and purpose, their purity of spirit palpable even from afar. They were a stark contrast to the decadence of the nobility around her, an embodiment of everything humanity could aspire to but could never touch.
An idea bloomed in Leda's calculating mind as she studied their presence. The solution to her family's tenuous political future—an heir with the blood of a Space Marine. The concept was daring, even heretical, but it was irresistible in its audacity. Her gaze wandered over the company, lingering on the ones on the outer line.
She made her move. Adjusting her posture and allowing just the right amount of weakness into her step, she feigned a fall. Her fan clattered to the ground as she crumpled gracefully. The nobles nearby barely noticed, but her intended audience did.
Among the unmoving giants, one flinched. His helmet tilted toward her fallen form. For a moment, he hesitated, and then—against all expectations—he took half a step forward, as though to ensure she was unharmed.
It was enough. Leda, pretending to recover, caught the movement. Their eyes met through the dark lenses of his helmet. She offered him a fleeting, grateful smile before being "helped" to her feet by a nearby servant.
Her plan had succeeded. She had found her target.
Later that evening, in the privacy of her chamber, Leda summoned her maid, one who had long proven useful in gathering information from the shadows. It started as a whim, just to see whether the heartless Astartes were as heartless as she had heard, but now it posed an interesting challenge for her.
"The Black Templar," she said, her voice soft but firm, "the one who turned toward me. Who is he?"
The maid hesitated, uncertain whether it was wise to speak of such warriors, but the steel in Leda's gaze demanded obedience.
"His name is Tiberias, my lady," the maid said. "That is all I could learn from the servants who tend to the guest lists."
"Tiberias," Leda whispered to herself, tasting the name like forbidden fruit. It would suffice for now.
Tiberias was a name spoken with reverence among the Black Templars. Inducted into the Chapter in his youth, he quickly distinguished himself through his unwavering faith and exceptional skill in battle. While many of his brothers charged into combat with singular zeal, Tiberias tempered his fury with sharp tactical acumen. He was a warrior who understood that the Emperor's will was not served by mindless sacrifice but by calculated victory.
Among his peers, Tiberias was known for a rare trait in a Chapter famed for its relentless crusading spirit: compassion. While the Black Templars did not tolerate weakness, Tiberias believed in the strength of unity. "No brother left behind" was more than a sentiment; it was his creed. On the battlefield, he was the first to shield a wounded comrade and the last to leave a war zone, ensuring his brothers' survival even in the direst circumstances.
This blend of strategic brilliance and camaraderie earned Tiberias a place among the Sword Brethren before his first century of service—an honor bestowed only upon the most exemplary Templars. As a Sword Brother, he led smaller detachments of his brethren with precision, balancing the Chapter's fiery zeal with the cool calculation of a seasoned commander. His brothers trusted him implicitly, and his superiors spoke of him as a potential Castellan in the making.
Trusted as he was, Tiberias oversaw many activities and some of them involving contact with civilian public, a gap Leda happily took advantage of. This enabled her to a series of 'accidental' occasions where she met Tiberias.
There was on time when she was out shopping with her handmaiden just outside the city hall when Black Templars representatives -Tiberias was one of them -and somehow her vehicle was run over in a hit-and-run accident oddly the exact moment when the Black Templars were exiting the building. Of course, with their superhuman ability they would help moving the destroyed vehicle out of the way to sooth the traffic. Leda later praised eloquent gratitude for the Templars, especially the one they call Tiberias. He quickly stopped her and said "Praise the Emperor" before he left her to join his brothers.
Their third encounter was less accidental. Leda arranged it carefully, ensuring their paths would cross during a public recruitment Tiberias oversaw. She carried with her a relic—a small but significant item she had acquired from the black market. It was a tarnished aquila badge said to have belonged to a Templar who had fallen during the War of Armageddon.
When she presented it to him, Tiberias hesitated, his towering frame radiating suspicion. "Where did you find this?"
"It was passed through... unofficial channels," Leda admitted with a disarming smile. "I thought it deserved to be in proper hands, not in some collector's vault."
He took the relic with reverence. "I accept it in the name of the Black Templars," he said solemnly, his voice echoing through his helm. But even as he accepted it, his tone carried a warning.
The next time he saw her, it was only to avoid her. Leda noticed the way he actively turned away from her gaze, his actions confirming her suspicions: he was wary, but she had already left a mark.
Leda relentlessly tried again to arrange another accidental meeting and somehow kept failing, obviously Tiberias had been vigilant against her. She was determined and schemed yet another plot.
Sometime later, on a Tyranid-infested planet two solar system away from Rhea Lunaris, Khael Tiberias found himself face-to-face with her again. His company had been deployed to aid an overwhelmed regiment of Astra Militarum. The blackened skies and the oppressive, humid air of the battlefield were no place for a noble, yet there she was, pale and trembling but determined, her silk robes torn and stained, some breathing devices dangling by her side.
"I was searching for a family heirloom left before the war," Leda claimed, her voice quivering as she stood amidst her ragged entourage of mercenaries. It's a weak reasoning but no one really cared by then.
Tiberias' anger flared. "You endanger yourself and others for vanity?" he demanded, his voice like thunder through his helmet.
She stumbled, her knees giving out from exhaustion. Her mercenaries moved to assist her, but Tiberias brushed them aside. He effortlessly lifted her into his arms, cradling her as though she were weightless. Despite his anger, his first instinct was to protect.
"Get her to the Guardsmen's camp," he ordered her entourage. "She doesn't belong here."
As he carried her, she whispered weakly, "Thank you… Tiberias."
He stiffened, unused to hearing his name in such a personal tone, and deposited her quickly with the medicae. He returned to his company before his brothers noticed his brief absence, but the memory of her voice lingered, unsettling him.
Unbeknown to him, while receiving medical assistance Leda displayed a sinister victorious smile. She became more confident in her advances and all the more creative on backstory of each endeavor.
Weeks later, during one of her more daring visits, Leda convinced Tiberias to remove his helmet. Against his better judgment, he removed the helm, revealing a face chiseled like stone, marred by scars yet attractive in its harshness. He was however a product of a wartime era, standard attractiveness did not apply to space marines. One small silver stud was pinned on the right side of his forehead, a sign that he was at least not a hundred years old yet.
Leda was transfixed. His eyes, deep and piercing, held both strength and an almost painful weariness. She traced the faint scar running down his cheek with her gaze, marveling at the humanity hidden beneath his inhuman perfection.
"You don't look like a monster," she said softly, her voice trembling.
"I am what the Emperor made me," he replied, averting his gaze.
It wasn't until much later, during one of their stolen conversations, that he revealed his first name.
"Tiberias," she said teasingly, "you must have a first name, too. Surely you weren't born with just a title?"
He hesitated. Names were personal, sacred among his kind, but something in her persistence wore him down.
"Khael," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "My name was Khael, once."
"Khael," she repeated, savoring it. "It suits you."
It was the first time he felt naked in her presence, stripped of the armor not just on his body but in his soul. And in that vulnerability, Leda saw her victory.
To achieve that victory, Leda used everything she had, even the sanctity of holy prayer. The monastery was a stark reflection of the Black Templars themselves—severe, unadorned, and radiating purpose. The cold stone walls of the chapel were lit only by flickering candlelight, casting long shadows that danced like restless spirits. Rows of iron-wrought pews faced the central altar, where a massive aquila loomed, its sharp wings stretching to either side like a reminder of the Emperor's eternal vigilance.
Khael Tiberias knelt at the altar, clad in his black carapace armor. His helmet rested at his side, revealing a face marred by scars and discipline. His lips moved in silent prayer, his head bowed low, while the candles' soft glow highlighted the grim determination etched into his features. He came here after every deployment, his soul seeking absolution for sins he could not name aloud, though he felt them weigh heavy on him.
Unbeknownst to him, Leda Vanns watched from the shadows of the chapel entrance. She had bribed her way into the temporary monastery—a reckless and dangerous endeavor, but Leda was no stranger to risk. Draped in a dark cloak, her noble attire hidden beneath, she stood as still as the statues lining the walls, her heart racing as she gazed upon the towering figure of Tiberias.
For a moment, she hesitated. What was she doing here? Was it truly to speak to him, or had she merely wanted to see him in a moment of vulnerability, away from his endless crusades and duties? The question lingered unanswered as she took a tentative step forward, the sound of her heeled boots muted by the cold stone floor.
Tiberias' sharp ears caught the faint disturbance. His head snapped up, and his hand instinctively moved toward the hilt of his sheathed sword. When his piercing gaze fell upon her, his expression shifted from suspicion to something more complicated—anger, confusion, and a flicker of something deeper.
"Lady Vanns," he said, his voice a low growl that carried both respect and warning. "You should not be here."
Leda lowered her hood, revealing her face framed by the soft glow of the candles. Her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "I came to pray."
Tiberias rose to his full height, towering over her, his expression hardening. "You jeopardize us both with your presence. If anyone were to see—"
"No one will," she interrupted, stepping closer. "I made certain of it. Please, Khael. Allow me this moment."
His jaw clenched, and for a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a sigh that sounded like a man surrendering to a battle he knew he could not win, he stepped aside and gestured toward the altar. "Do as you will."
Leda approached, her steps measured, her hands clasped tightly before her. She knelt beside him, feeling impossibly small next to his armored bulk. The cold of the stone floor seeped through her knees, but she ignored it, her focus entirely on the man beside her.
"I don't know the words," she admitted softly, glancing at him.
Tiberias' eyes remained fixed on the altar. "Then listen," he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. "And repeat after me."
He began the prayer, his deep voice resonating in the quiet chapel. The words were ancient and solemn, a pledge of loyalty to the Emperor, a plea for guidance and strength. Leda echoed him, her voice faltering at first but growing steadier with each phrase. She closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of the prayer wash over her, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in her chest—something that felt like peace, or perhaps longing.
As the prayer came to an end, silence enveloped them. Leda opened her eyes to find Tiberias staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable. Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the back of his gauntleted hand. It was a fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt through them both.
"Khael," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Is it so wrong to seek solace in one another?"
His hand pulled away as if burned. "Yes," he said, his voice cold and firm. "It is."
But even as he spoke, his eyes betrayed him. There was a crack in the stoic facade, a flicker of something vulnerable, something human. He stood abruptly, his movements sharp and mechanical.
"You should leave," he said, his back to her now. "Before anyone discovers you."
Leda remained kneeling, her heart heavy but her resolve unbroken. "I will go," she said, rising slowly. "But know this, Khael: in this universe of endless war and suffering, even the smallest moment of peace is worth fighting for."
He did not respond, his gaze fixed firmly on the altar. As Leda slipped out of the chapel and into the cold night, she could not shake the image of him standing there, a monument of duty and sacrifice. And though she knew her presence had only deepened the cracks in his armor, she could not bring herself to regret it.
For a fleeting moment, she had prayed with a Space Marine. And for that fleeting moment, they had shared something that no one else in the galaxy could take away.
It had taken months of calculated patience on Leda's part. Months of carefully orchestrated meetings, stolen moments, and subtle manipulations. Khael Tiberias had proven to be an iron wall of discipline and conviction, refusing to give in to her charms despite the connection she could feel simmering beneath his stoic exterior. But even the strongest walls can crack, and Leda knew she had been chipping away at him, piece by piece.
The night it happened was one of those rare moments when she managed to draw him away from the suffocating vigilance of his brothers. The occasion was nothing grand—a quiet evening in a garden on the edge of a noble's estate, far from the prying eyes of both nobility and the Black Templars. She had claimed she needed to speak with him urgently about something of grave importance to the Imperium. It was a lie, of course, but one Tiberias had reluctantly accepted.
The garden was bathed in soft moonlight, the air cool and still. Leda wore a flowing gown of dark blue, chosen specifically to seem modest but elegant, and she had dismissed all attendants. She stood by a fountain; her expression carefully composed to convey just the right amount of vulnerability.
Tiberias arrived, his massive armored form a stark contrast to the serenity of the garden. He removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm, and approached her with measured steps. His face, severe and ragged, betrayed no emotion as he spoke.
"What is it that requires such secrecy, Lady Vanns?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
Leda hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground as though gathering courage. When she looked up, her eyes glistened with feigned unshed tears. "I wanted to thank you, Khael," she said softly. "For everything you've done. For your sacrifices. For protecting humanity, protecting me."
"There is no need for thanks," he replied stiffly, his tone almost cold. "I do my duty. Nothing more."
"But it's more than that," she insisted, stepping closer. "You don't see it, do you? The way you inspire people, the way you've inspired me. I've seen nobility in you, strength… and kindness."
His jaw tightened, and he took a step back as she advanced. "You shouldn't be here. This is inappropriate."
"I know," she whispered, her voice trembling just enough to sound sincere. "But I couldn't help it. I had to see you, to tell you how much you mean to me."
"Lady Vanns—" he began, but she silenced him by stepping even closer, her hand brushing against the cold ceramite of his gauntlet.
"I'm not asking for anything," she lied, her voice barely audible. "I just wanted you to know."
"Khael," she whispered, her voice trembling with carefully crafted emotion. "Please, just once, let me see the man behind the armor."
He stiffened, his lips pressing into a hard line. "Lady Vanns, you go too far."
But even as he spoke, she could see the crack in his resolve, the flicker of doubt in his eyes.
And then, before he could step away, she acted. Rising onto the tips of her toes, she reached for him, her hands sliding up to his broad shoulders. But it wasn't enough—he was still too tall. On instinct, she leaped, her slender arms wrapping around his neck. Tiberias' reflexes, honed by decades of combat, took over. He caught her effortlessly, his massive hands gripping her waist to steady her.
It was a gesture born of duty, not desire—or so he told himself.
For a heartbeat, they froze, her face inches from his. Her breath brushed against his lips, and in that moment, all his training, all his vows, seemed to crumble. Her eyes, so full of longing, searched his, and before he could stop her, she closed the distance.
Her lips pressed against his in a kiss that was both tender and bold, a declaration of her victory over his will.
At first, Tiberias did not respond. His entire body tensed, his mind screaming at him to push her away. But then he felt it—the warmth of her touch, the softness of her lips. It was unlike anything he had ever known, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to feel.
His hands tightened around her waist as he kissed her back, the motion clumsy and desperate. Her tongue brushed against his lips, and a jolt of sensation shot through him, igniting a fire he had long thought extinguished.
But soon he bounced back to reality.
Tiberias pulled back abruptly, setting her down as though burnt. His chest heaved, his eyes wide with horror.
When they finally broke apart, Tiberias stumbled back as though physically struck. His breathing was ragged, his face a mask of horror.
"This… cannot happen again," he said, his voice shaking .
But even as he spoke the words, Leda knew she had won. His lips still burned with the memory of her, and the cracks in his armor had grown too wide to be mended.
As soon as she released him, Tiberias turned and fled. His massive strides carried him swiftly through the estate's garden, his mind a whirlwind of shame and desire. He didn't stop until he reached the main chapel, a towering structure dedicated to the Emperor's glory.
Slamming the heavy doors behind him, he fell to his knees before the altar, the echoes of his footsteps still ringing in the sacred space. His hands trembled as they removed his helmet, placing it reverently at his side.
"Emperor, forgive me," he whispered, his voice cracking.
Tiberias began to recite the Catechisms of Repentance, his voice rising with each line as though volume alone could drown out the memory of her kiss. But it was no use. No matter how fervently he prayed, no matter how many litanies he repeated, the image of Leda haunted him.
He spent hours in the chapel that night, kneeling and begging for absolution. But deep down, he knew the truth. His greatest sin was not the kiss itself but the secret, forbidden part of him that wanted more.
And it was that thought, more than any other, that terrified him.
After that fateful encounter of the first kiss, every night, Tiberias knelt in the dim, hallowed halls of the Black Templar's makeshift chapel on the planet. The glow of candles flickered against the cold stone walls as his massive, armored form dwarfed the simple altar before him. His helmet sat beside him, revealing his scarred face contorted in anguish.
He whispered the Catechisms of Repentance, each word punctuated by the clinking of his rosarius beads. "By His will, I am unyielding. By His grace, I am pure." But no matter how many times he repeated the prayers, the thought of Leda returned like a persistent whisper in the back of his mind, her voice mingling with the lingering memory of her smile and the soft scent of her presence.
One evening, after returning from a patrol, Tiberias spotted her again, standing beneath a balcony overlooking the gardens of the noble estate. Her gaze met his through the shadowed night, her eyes gleaming with determination. She didn't approach him this time, but the unspoken invitation was clear.
Tiberias paused, his breath catching in his throat. Every fiber of his being screamed to turn away, to flee back to the barracks, but his legs felt anchored in place. He hated himself for the warmth that spreads through his chest at the sight of her.
When he finally forced himself to move, it was not to approach her but to storm away. He threw himself into the nearest chapel and began reciting the Litany of the Pure Heart, his voice rising until it was nearly a shout. "I am a sword in His hand! I am a fortress for His glory!"
But the words felt hollow. His mind betrayed him, conjuring the image of her face. The temptation became an echo in his heart, one he could not silence. O God Emperor, he needed salvation.
Tiberias reached his breaking point after one such encounter and he knew he needed help. The shame and spiritual agony drove him to seek the only authority that might offer salvation: a Black Templar Chaplain. The Chaplain's presence, clad in black armor adorned with purity seals and bearing the relics of their faith, filled Tiberias with both hope and dread.
Kneeling before Chaplain Domitian, Tiberias hesitated. His words faltered as the image of Leda's face danced in his mind, her voice a seductive echo urging him to stay silent. He clenched his fists, desperate to confess but incapable of uttering the full truth. In the end, all he could manage was a vague admission.
"Revered Chaplain," he began, his voice heavy with suppressed emotion, "I... encountered a noblewoman during the Chapter Founding event. Her presence lingers in my mind, a distraction I cannot purge."
The Chaplain's eyes, glowing faintly beneath his skull-shaped helmet, narrowed. Though Tiberias' words were not a direct confession, they rang with enough truth to alarm the spiritual leader. Chaplain Domitian's voice was a low, thunderous growl.
"You tread dangerously close to heresy, Brother. Astartes do not falter for the whims of mortal desires. You will cleanse this weakness through prayer and penance. Begin immediately."
Tiberias was sent to recite litanies of purity before the Chapter's reliquary for hours, his enhanced mind tormented by what he could not say. Chaplain Domitian's words echoed in his ears: "An Astartes does not falter." Yet he had faltered, and the weight of his sins bore down on him more heavily than ever.
Sadly, his fake confession to Chaplain Domitian didn't help calming the turmoil in his mind. Tiberias grew harsher in training drills, pushing his brothers to exhaustion in an effort to exhaust himself. He volunteered for double patrols, seeking to drown out his thoughts in the rhythmic vigilance of duty.
But his brothers began to notice. His responses during mission briefings grew clipped. His movements lacked the precise confidence of the Templar. One of them pulled him aside after one session.
"You seem burdened, Brother Tiberias," one of his brothers said, his tone both stern and concerned.
Tiberias averted his gaze, his jaw tightening. "I am… reflecting, Brother. On my inadequacies."
"Beware, Brother, evil lurks not only in the frontier, sometimes they are inside our mind. Emperor's blessing be with you." The brother solemnly said to him. Little did the brother know that evil also lurked in the form of a beautiful and manipulative lady.
Several weeks passed without a single meeting with Leda. Tiberias, vigilant and resolute, had confined himself to the monastery, refusing to give her any opportunity for any 'accidental' encounter. But one rainy evening, as he returned from a grueling week-long mission on an infected planet, he saw her waiting for him near the outer monastery wall.
She stood there, drenched from head to toe, her arms wrapped tightly around her body for what little warmth they could offer. Her slight frame trembled under the relentless downpour. Though Rhea Lunaris was a beautiful and thriving planet, its climate could turn harsh and unforgiving, and tonight was such a night.
Her eyes scanned the procession of Black Templars disembarking from the ship, searching intently for him. Tiberias steeled himself, willing his resolve to remain unshaken. Without breaking stride, he marched into the monastery with his brothers, ignoring the pang of unease clawing at his chest. She is no good, he told himself. She lures me into sin. I must not falter.
The hall was somber as the captain delivered a debrief of the mission, but Tiberias could barely focus. The image of Leda under the rain consumed his thoughts—her trembling form, rainwater streaming from her respirator cable, her pale skin and lips turned an unnatural shade of blue from the cold. The sight pained him, not in the flesh but in his heart.
When the briefing ended and his brothers dispersed, Tiberias made his way outside with purpose. Every step felt like a betrayal of his vows, yet he couldn't stop himself.
He found her still standing in the same spot, shivering against the relentless cold. For a moment, he said nothing, torn between frustration and concern. "You need to leave," he finally said, his voice gruff, almost pleading.
The biting chill had driven away any potential onlookers, leaving them alone in the dim light of the monastery's outer wall. Leda's lips trembled as she spoke, her breath misting in the icy air. "Let's meet, Khael. I shall see you a fortnight from now. Promise me you'll come."
Tiberias hesitated, his fists clenched at his sides. The impropriety of the moment pressed on him like a weight, yet he found himself nodding, if only to end her suffering. "Fine," he muttered. "I promise. Now go and find warmth."
Leda's lips curled into a faint smile, victorious yet strangely vicious. She turned, and her waiting maid rushed to her side, steadying her as they disappeared into the night.
Tiberias stood there long after they were gone, the rain soaking through his armor, cold seeping into his bones. His promise hung heavy in the air, like a contract signed in blood. He knew what he had done. A promise to her was as binding as one made to the daemon prince himself—and just as unforgiving.
Cunning and determined, Leda orchestrated a secret rendezvous with Tiberias on a cold, quiet night. She chose her timing carefully—on the eve of a sacred day when civilians would remain indoors, and the military would be preoccupied with preparations for the grand ceremony. Amid the bustling activity, the absence of a single Space Marine would go unnoticed.
In her calculated wickedness, Leda had acquired a rare and forbidden substance from a rogue trader of ill repute. She knew that the transformation into a Space Marine—the grueling Astartes Creation process—had fundamentally altered all Astartes including Tiberias. The implantation of gene-seeds, chemical augmentations, and genetic modifications had stripped him of many human urges, including sexual desire, ensuring that his focus and loyalty were unwaveringly directed toward the Emperor.
But Leda was prepared. The substance she had procured was an "antidote" of sorts, capable of temporarily overriding the effects of the Astartes' conditioning. Though its potency would last for only a short time, it was enough to break through Tiberias's inhuman restraint. Enough for Leda to take what she desired most: his seed, the key to fulfilling her twisted ambitions.
The chamber was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lumen globes casting long, flickering shadows across the polished walls. The air was thick with tension, a silent war waging within Khael Tiberias as he stood at the threshold, his massive frame blocking the doorway.
"You've been distant tonight, my Lord," Leda said, her voice smooth and inviting. She sat on the edge of a lavishly adorned chaise, her gown slipping off one shoulder to reveal the soft curve of her collarbone. She was every bit the picture of allure, a calculated vision designed to ensnare him. One could easily mistake her for one of Slannesh's very own minions.
Tiberias didn't answer, his jaw tight and his fists clenched at his sides. He had removed his helmet earlier in a gesture of trust, and now his face was bare, revealing eyes filled with conflict.
"I shouldn't be here," he said at last, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the room.
"But you are," Leda replied, rising gracefully to her feet. She moved toward him with deliberate slowness, each step measured, her bare feet making no sound on the smooth floor. "And that tells me more than words ever could."
Tiberias turned his head away, his gaze fixed on the far wall as if looking at her would undo him completely. "You don't understand what you're asking of me. To give in… to this… it would destroy me."
"It would set you free," Leda countered, stopping just before him. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, her diminutive stature dwarfed by his towering form. Even then, she was too short to reach him, but she made no effort to step back.
"You think you've sacrificed everything for your duty, but you haven't," she said, her voice soft yet insistent. "You've never known what it means to live, to truly feel. And that is what I offer you."
Tiberias' eyes closed, his breathing heavy. He could feel her presence, her warmth so close to him, and it was maddening. "This is wrong," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Then why haven't you left?" Leda challenged, her tone taking on an edge.
Before he could answer, she stepped onto a nearby stool, bringing herself just high enough to meet his gaze without craning her neck. Her hands reached out, lightly brushing against the ceramite of his chest armor before sliding upward to rest on his shoulders.
"Look at me, Khael," she said, her voice softening again.
Reluctantly, he turned his head, his eyes meeting hers. The intensity of her gaze was almost too much to bear, and yet he couldn't look away.
Casually she stooped and picked a caliche on the closest table and presented it to Tiberias with a reverence that mirrored his own devotion. "A toast," she suggested softly, her voice a blend of humility and admiration, "to your unwavering faith and sacrifice. Surely, even the most pious can honor the Emperor with such a gesture." Reluctant but unwilling to offend, Tiberias accepted the chalice, his towering form casting a shadow over her as he studied her intent. The concoction was masterfully prepared, masking the antidote's bitterness beneath the wine's rich aroma. As the liquid passed his lips, Leda suppressed a triumphant smile, knowing that her scheme was now in motion, and the barriers that defined his humanity and divinity would soon falter.
"Do you feel it?" she asked. "That ache in your chest, the fire in your veins? That's not wrong. That's what it means to be alive."
Tiberias shook his head, his fists clenching tighter. "You don't understand what you're doing to me," he said, his voice trembling.
"I understand more than you think," Leda replied. "And I know that you want this as much as I do."
Before he could protest, she leaned forward, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was both soft and searing. It was a moment of hesitation, of resistance, but then something within Tiberias broke. Unbeknownst to him, the antidote had begun to take hold, unraveling the biological barriers that had once dulled such sensations. He kissed her back, his hands moving to her waist as he pulled her closer, the flood of unfamiliar desire overwhelming any restraint he might have left. The restraint he had clung to so desperately shattered, replaced by a hunger he had never known.
As the night progressed, the line between duty and desire blurred beyond recognition. Leda's touch was intoxicating, her whispers a siren's song that lured him deeper into her embrace. For Tiberias, the experience was both bliss and torment, a forbidden pleasure heightened by the antidote's influence, yet one that came at the cost of his very soul.
Author note: yes, Leda is the bad guy of the story. The story is focused on Tiberias, not of her. Every hero needs a villain and we have Leda for Tiberias.
I am extremely new to the fandom, so please let me know if there is anything I need to fix; parts that don't go with the lore. Thank you!